


Coffee and the Gulf of Mexico

by windandthestars



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s02e08 Next Tuesday, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:03:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We should be landing shortly.”  She says still clearly amused and he wonders for a moment if that’s meant to comfort him or remind him that he’s currently sitting next to her in his boxers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee and the Gulf of Mexico

He’s peeling of his diving suit before they even land. Normally when he flies, with or without Magnus at the helm, he’s very particular about staying seated, staying safe and not causing a ruckus. Given what’s just happened he figures he still should be, but right now he’s so sick of being cocooned in neoprene. His hands are still wrinkled from the water, easily nicked and torn, but he’s not thinking about that either. 

He peels off the wet suit and groans in relief, settling back into his seat as Magnus raises an eyebrow at him. She’s still perfectly content, hair drying in soft waves, the corners of her mouth turning up. Will frowns and rolls his eyes. She’s not the one with suction cup burn around his leg and across his chest. At least the thing hadn’t tried to gag him, the water had done a good enough job of that, and even so, he’s not counting that as a blessing. Creatures with tentacles were no longer allowed within a hundred feet of him.

He was going to have to make a note of that for the next time they dealt with a similarly inclined creature, not that he was of any risk of forgetting. The note was for Magnus so when he tried to pawn the mission off on Kate she’d been less likely to argue with him. At least that was the theory.

It had turned out all right in the end hadn’t it? She would say, reminding him of just how close her blade had sliced to his skin as she saved him from writhing, drowning deep under the water. He had been thankful at the time but now the thought made his skin crawl. In the time since he had started working for her, he had gotten used to Magnus and her guns, but Magnus and her knife were a different story. They were equally as lethal but a lot less predictable, at least as far as he could tell.

“We should be landing shortly.” She says still clearly amused and he wonders for a moment if that’s meant to comfort him or remind him that he’s currently sitting next to her in his boxers. She’s seen him naked more times than is probably advisable; he’s not worried about that. It’s explaining the boxers and Magnus’ amused look to whatever landing party they might have.

“I’ll lick the floor to the main lab clean before I put that thing back on.” He says dryly and she laughs warmly, hand coming up to hide the extent of her mirth. The current of unease between them had broken; his relief at the lack of tension fresh enough that the sight of her grin, peaking out from under her fingers makes his stomach flutter. “I’m serious. It’s a one time offer though. Don’t think you can get me to do it again by throwing me in a tank with Squidly Jr.”

The chopper dips and her hand falls away, her smile more subdued. “They’ll have blankets waiting and perhaps if you’re lucky that coffee you so love.”

“The French Vanilla?” He swallows already feeling the warmth in his throat, tasting the sweet, rich blend. It was a hell of a lot better than seawater and jet fuel, even Magnus had to know that.

“The less offensive smelling one, yes.” She suggests carefully and he laughs, her startled looking only feeding his amusement.

“It smells like heaven.” He assures her, “by the time you get out of that wet suit you’ll be wanting some too.”

“Perhaps-“

“Heaven,” he cuts off her incredulous reply. “The total opposite of an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico. Heaven.

“Coffee,” she frowns, and then sways as the chopper lands with a careful bump. “Is still coffee, Gulf or no Gulf.”


End file.
